


Bent in the Undergrowth

by tfm



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Violence, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 13:28:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29208141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tfm/pseuds/tfm
Summary: Beauregard Lionett is a teenager much in need of some positive role models.The Darrington Brigade is nothing of the sort, but they’ll do in the meantime.Or, Damian Vadoma meets a teen with a chip on her shoulder in Kamordah, and accidentally maybe sort of takes her under her wing.
Relationships: Damian Vadoma & Beauregard Lionett, minor Damian Vadoma/Farriwen Breeze
Comments: 17
Kudos: 99





	1. I

I

  
  


Damian Vadoma never thought she’d find a town weirder and smaller than Deastock. Deastock had about ten thousand people living there, and thanks to the influence and money of the Truscan family, the demographic skewed a little richer than most of the rest of the Empire.

  
  


  
  


Rexxentrum, like any other capital, had sections of slum-like areas, or at least sections where people were more in poverty than out of it. Damian’s family had once thrived in the Mudtop Ward, putting the foot of oppression further into the backs of the people that needed it the least.

  
  


  
  


She hadn’t realized just how much she needed to get out until she’d done it, covered in blood and running for her life.

  
  


  
  


Okay, maybe it hadn’t been quite that dramatic. But it was dramatic enough. Dramatic enough that fighting an enormous, eldritch duck just felt like another one of those things. Another one of those things that, while exciting in the moment, had been followed up by a period of abject boredom.

  
  


  
  


“It may be some time before our next adventure!” Taryon had said, jovially. And then, a little less jovially, “I don’t know that there’s anyone around that wants to hire us.” So, she had a brand new necklace with a red crystal that would pulse when Damian was needed. At least that’s what was what Taryon had said.

  
  


  
  


But, she’d seen the Flame Tongue Dagger in action enough to know that the guy was at least a little legit, even if a bunch of it was kinda overblown. In all honesty, she was mostly there for a good time, but a little bit of coin wouldn’t go astray. Just enough in case things with the Darrington Brigade didn’t work out like they were supposed to.

  
  


  
  


Things had rarely every worked out like they were supposed to, but Damian was sorta used to that by now. Didn’t hold any ill will about it, but just took shit as it came. The books in the library called that “Zen,” but Damian had never really had a chance to practice it, until she’d had to leave. Until she reached a point in her life where she didn’t like the way things were going, and had to take a stand to make sure it didn’t go any further.

  
  


  
  


She’d mellowed out a decent amount with age, enough that she could have a pretty good time killing a duck-tentacle monster with a group of wayward adventurers, and not feel like she was getting too fucked over by not getting a cut of ten thousand gold, but the thing about not caring about money, is that it’s easier to do when you’ve got it.

  
  


It seemed crass to go looking for work in Deastock, so instead, Damian headed north.

  
  


She ended up in a small town a couple of hours north of Deastock, that seemed to be made up of wineries and not a whole lot else.

  
  


Okay, that wasn’t exactly true. There was an inn, and a cobbler, and a blacksmith, and all of those general things required to keep a town running, but all of the prominent families (and several of the less prominent ones) made wine. At least that’s what the shabbily dressed man begging for coins on the side of the road told her. She gave him a gold for his trouble.

  
  


  
  


Kamordah definitely wasn’t as nice as Deastock. There were some nice parts, of course; up near the rainbow-colored cliffs, she could very nice, very expensive looking houses. Not too dissimilar from the house that Damian had once lived in, but she was pretty sure these houses weren’t exactly the by-product of shakedowns and drug deals. Still probably weren’t exactly the best of people. Damian had never met a rich person, save Taryon, that didn’t do whatever it took to make sure that they stayed rich.

  
  


  
  


There was at least a tiny part of Damian that wouldn’t mind cutting down a few more rich assholes at the knees, but first things first, she needed to make a little bit of coin. It was all well and good to be giving back to the people of Wildemount, but sometimes you wanted to buy stuff without having to ask your boss.

  
  


  
  


Damian had barely been in Kamordah for ten minutes before she thought she’d probably made a mistake. She could tell just by looking that this wasn’t a place that had a burgeoning criminal underground.

  
  


  
  


There was a single, dingy looking bar, and that was about it. No gambling dens, or brothels, or anything like that. A bar was...well, a bar was fine. It was certainly the only place around where there would be any kind of work, and even then, it was a bit of a crapshoot.

  
  


  
  


The bar was not very busy. There were a couple of dwarves in the back corner, talking in low voices, their faces deep in shadow, and some halflings that seemed to be arguing over a small pile of silver coins.

  
  


  
  


At the bar itself, there was a lone figure. Too tall to be a dwarf or a halfling, but small for a human. The reason for that became evident when the figure looked up, and Damian saw a fresh-faced teenager that looked fifteen if she was a day. She had dark hair that was tied back in a ponytail, and was wearing clothes that looked as though they had been strategically torn in places to give them a more weathered look. Despite her age, she had a full tankard of ale in front of her and a huge gods-damned chip on her shoulder.

  
  


  
  


Damian could tell that from the expression alone; like she’d be willing to fight anyone that even looked at her funny. It was an expression that Damian was very familiar with, because it was one she used to see in the mirror every single morning.

  
  


Damian flagged down the bartender, a heavy-set man with a bald spot on his head, and stubble scattered across a scarred chin. It wasn’t until he asked what she wanted that she realized that she might have made a mistake.

  
  


  
  


‘Just, ah...just water.’ The bartender raised a patchy sort of eyebrow. This definitely didn’t look like the sort of place where many people ordered water. She was pretty sure if she asked for something “soft,” it just meant that she’d get beer instead of liquor. ‘Unless you’ve got like...ginger ale, or root beer or something.’ Not her favorite drinks, but apparently ordering water was something weird, or suspicious.

  
  


  
  


‘Hey.’ The voice was come from the other end of the bar, where the kid was sitting. Damian looked up, but didn’t turn.

  
  


  
  


‘You looking to pull a job, or looking for a good time?’ the kid said, loud enough to get Damian’s attention. Damian turned. ‘I can help you with both.’ She winked, and Damian recoiled slightly. Not that she wasn’t flattered, but she tended to go for people a little more…adult.

  
  


  
  


‘I ain’t a cradle-snatcher, kid,’ she said, and the kid looked visibly offended by the comment.

  
  


  
  


‘I’m seventeen,’ she said, bristling. It was almost definitely a lie (and still way too young, even if Damian had been considering it).

  
  


  
  


‘Forget that,’ Damian said, waving a hand. She moved down the bar a little bit. ‘Tell me about the other thing – you a fixer?’ It was definitely something that Damian had seen a bit of. Younger kids and teens that weren’t much in the stealing business proper, but knew all the right people just the same. Definitely didn’t look like a snitch at any rate.

  
  


  
  


‘Fixer and floater,’ the kid said, getting over her disappointment at rejection remarkably quickly. ‘Can find you some people to run a job with if you’re looking, or if you need people, I can do that too. Whatever you need, I can help you.’ Damian couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at that phrasing. That was another thing she was intimately familiar with. Being way too eager to please people.

  
  


  
  


‘What’s your name?’

  
  


  
  


The kid hesitated for a moment. ‘Beauregard,’ she said, finally. Then, a little embarrassed, ‘My parents wanted a boy.’

  
  


Damian gave a slight grin. She could definitely relate, even if her own relationship with gender was a complicated one. She held out her hand. ‘Damian.’ Beauregard seemed to relax a little at that revelation. As though having a name traditionally associated with a boy made her a little more trustworthy.

  
  


  
  


Her parents hadn’t been outwardly honest in their desire to have a boy. It was more that...well, it was more that they didn’t treat any of their kids differently for having been girls. They all fought, and stole, and worked the business the same way. When asked, her father told people he had five sons. Some of them just happened to be girls. Once upon a time, Damian had been a little insulted about that, but these days, gender was another one of those things that didn’t quite matter as much. For her, at least, it didn’t really make a difference.

  
  


  
  


‘You from town?’ Damian asked, as the bartender put a stein filled with what looked like a halfhearted attempt at lemonade down in front of her. She already knew the answer to her question, but it was a good way to start a conversation, put the kid at ease. At least, she’d thought it was. Beauregard stiffened slightly.

  
  


  
  


‘Unfortunately,’ she sighed. ‘It’s kind of a shithole.’

  
  


  
  


‘But there’s work to pull?’

  
  


  
  


Beauregard gave an awkward sort of shrug. ‘Depends on what you’re looking for. Mostly floaters coming through looking for one-time gigs, stealing wine, moving money, selling drugs...Not really a big enough town for anything else. Zadash is bigger, but you’ve gotta be more careful about whose feet you step on, there.’

  
  


  
  


Damian nodded. A town like Zadash would almost certainly have a more…organized, organized crime. It was also at least a two day trip from here to Zadash, and Taryon could get into contact with them at any time. Better to stay close by, just in case she was needed again.

  
  


  
  


‘Mostly just looking to get my feet wet. Legal is preferable, but I’m willing to negotiate.’ Beauregard raised an eyebrow, and Damian didn’t blame her. It can’t have been common for people to go looking for criminal types, but then only want to do above the board work. But then, most criminal enterprises had above-board businesses; if the authorities couldn’t get you for smuggling, they’d try to get you for tax evasion. That, plus the fact that a legitimate business was one of the easier ways to launder dirty money.

  
  


  
  


Still shady as fuck, of course, but maybe a few steps less shady than some of the things that Damian had done in her criminal career.

  
  


  
  


‘Dunno about legal stuff, but a lot of the winemakers are always looking for muscle. Pay’s pretty shit though; about a silver a day. Two if you’re lucky.’ Two silver a day wouldn’t get you very far, even in a rundown place like this. Even a shitty, flat ginger ale had cost her a silver.

  
  


Zadash was certainly starting to look like the better option. It was too late to get on the road now, but if she started early, then maybe she’d be able to get a good eight hours of walking in. This didn’t seem like the sort of place you could get a cheap horse, even if you did have some money, which Damian didn’t.

  
  


  
  


‘Never forget,’ Beauregard said, apparently reading the tattoo on Damian’s neck. ‘What aren’t you supposed to forget?’

  
  


  
  


‘To feed the cat,’ Damian told her, more than a little dryly. Beauregard rolled her eyes, but was grinning slightly. ‘Hey, I’m not kidding; my brother Joey forgot to feed it once, and we came home to a kitchen torn apart by a feral cat looking for food. Since that day, no-one’s ever forgotten to feed the cat.’

  
  


  
  


‘What about the other two?’ Beauregard nodded towards Damian’s knuckles. ‘Life and death.’

  
  


  
  


Damian faltered slightly. She’d never actually met anyone that hadn’t had to ask what the words on her knuckles actually meant. This rough-housing, hard drinking, apparently hard-partying teenage girl had just asked about them casually. ‘You can read a dead language?’

  
  


  
  


Beauregard’s face flushed, and she turned away, embarrassed. ‘I spend a lot of time in the library,’ she admitted. ‘I picked up a couple of languages.’

  
  


  
  


Damian was impressed. Admittedly, she could speak three languages. Common, of course, but that wasn’t exactly impressive. Elvish, because her mother was Elvish, and Giant, because she’d had that interesting (and fruitful) encounter with the _Skiltgravr_. But to pick up a language from reading books was something that not even Damian could admit to. ‘Didn’t think there was a library in town,’ she commented, and Beauregard’s face somehow seemed to flush even further. Damian decided to take pity on her, and didn’t press the issue.

  
  


  
  


‘These ones are pretty old,’ Damian admitted. She, too, had been an angry teen after all, thinking she was edgy and cool, and all that sorta stuff. ‘I used to get into a lotta fights growing up. Punchin’ people ‘cos I didn’t know what else to do. These days I use a blade, more, but you gotta remember who ya used to be so you don’t go back to your old ways, y’know?’

  
  


  
  


Beauregard looked skeptical. Damian wasn’t entirely surprised; she wasn’t really old enough to even _have_ “old ways” just yet. At the very least, she was trying to. Once upon a time, she would have drunk even Buddy under the table, and started a bar fight just for the hell of it.

  
  


So things were improving.

  
  


It was in the middle of this reminiscing that Damian felt the crystal in her necklace start to buzz and pulse.

  
  


_Hmm_. That was quick. Apparently word had gotten around. Or Taryon was desperate. Both reasonable possibilities.

  
  


Outside, it was dark. The road was dangerous enough during the day, but Damian was pretty stealthy when she wanted to be. She’d be able to get a few hours in before having to sleep behind a boulder, or under a tree, and then another few hours would get her back to Deastock sometime before noon.

  
  


But only if she left now.

  
  


‘Listen, kid, I’m sorry, something came up. I gotta bounce.’ Damian stood, pushing back her half-finished lemonade.

  
  


Beauregard looked disappointed, but not surprised. ‘Cool,’ she said, trying to pretend she wasn’t bothered by it. ‘Come by if you’re ever around again. I can hook you up with something.’

  
  


  
  


‘For sure.’

  
  


  
  


Damian couldn’t really imagine a situation where she came back here. This was definitely not a place you came to deal in organized crime. But, it never hurt to keep your contacts. You never know when you’d need a...teenage girl with a chip on her shoulder. Admittedly, that wasn’t giving Beauregard enough credit. The girl was clearly well-versed enough in the criminal activity in the area, even if there wasn’t exactly much of it.

  
  


  
  


If Damian hadn’t been _persona non grata_ in certain places, it would have been easy enough to hook the kid up with some actual connections. But that was something that Damian wouldn’t wish on anyone that hadn’t been born into it. Not that she didn’t love her family. But it was just...hard to get out of, once you were in.

  
  


  
  


The only way she’d managed to do it was by killing someone. Once upon a time, she might have felt bad about that, but not anymore. Not now that there was a whole world out there that she had an opportunity to see. Lots of opportunities for honest (or slightly less shady) work.

  
  


  
  


Lots of opportunities, but probably not in Kamordah.

  
  


  
  


She didn’t realize how wrong she was.


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please ignore the fact that I forgot to check the distance between Kamordah and Deastock (apparently a hundred miles) and pretend that it is in fact possible to get there in a single day.

  
  


II

  
  


Deastock was quiet.

  
  


  
  


It seemed like the sort of place that was rarely anything _but_ noisy, and a meteor falling in the Cyrengreen Forest seemed like the exception, rather than the rule. The Truscan family had done well in their efforts of bringing wealth and prestige to the region. The rundown Darrington Estate must have been a thorn in the side of a group of people that thought affluence, or at least the appearance of affluence was stronger than anything so petty as character.

  
  


  
  


It was nothing like Hupperdook, for example, where the gnomes took it upon themselves to spend every non-working or sleeping moment having a raucously good time. Even Rexxentrum had its fair share of beer halls and things like that.

  
  


  
  


Deastock was just about as sleepy as Kamordah. The rich people kept to their big houses, and the poor people suffered. So maybe it was a bit like all the rest of the Empire in that regard.

  
  


  
  


In any case, Damian was surprised to find that she wasn’t the last back. Everyone except Buddy and Macaroni were in the large dining room when she arrived, just before lunchtime, and it only took brief confirmation from Farriwen to hear that Macaroni had sent a message to say that they would be there late that afternoon.

  
  


  
  


‘Where did _you_ go?’ Farriwen asked, curiously. As far as Damian could tell, the monk hadn’t asked The Owlbear, or Hazel where they had been. The Owlbear had almost definitely been running around the woods somewhere, judging by the leaf matter that was still caught up in his cape. Of course, it was also entirely possible that he had spent the entire time practicing hiding in a pile of leaves raked up from someone’s garden.

  
  


  
  


‘Just seeing what else is around,’ Damian said, with as much caution as she felt she needed to muster, as she piled mashed potatoes onto her plate. Not a huge amount. She got the feeling that Farriwen wouldn’t judge her for some minor shadiness, even if the other woman _had_ maybe grown up in a monastery. ‘Thought there might be something interesting up north.’

  
  


  
  


‘Was there?’

  
  


  
  


Damian shrugged. The town had been pretty enough in parts, but she didn’t know if she would go so far as to call it _interesting_. It certainly didn’t seem worth mentioning that she’d made friends with a teenager in a bar. It was an unspoken bar rule after all, that if you didn’t exchange some method of contact, then you almost certainly weren’t going to see each other again, no matter how much you said you would. ‘Not really. What about you? You go anywhere?’

  
  


  
  


‘I didn’t,’ Farriwen admitted. ‘I took Hazel up on her offer of providing some meditation tracks; I haven’t quite had the chance to get much meditation in since leaving the monastery. Though I will admit, it’s a little hard to meditate with all the jingling.’ She gave a small smile. A strange feeling blossomed in Damian’s chest; was it... _jealousy?_ No. Probably not. Jealousy was one of those feelings that Damian had never really had. Or at least never really worried about too much. Either something would happen, or it wouldn’t happen. No point in getting upset about it.

  
  


  
  


The rest of the meal was a decent affair; Hazel showed them all a new recording she’d been working on, and right near the end of it, Taryon finally showed up.

  
  


  
  


‘Buck up, chumps!’ he said. ‘For we have another exciting _mission_! A wealthy vineyard owner in _Kamordah_ has requested our services to slay whatever beast is pilfering his grapes!’ Taryon spoke as he always did, like he was super excited about everything, even the stuff he wasn’t really that excited about.

  
  


  
  


Damian didn’t bother to mention that she’d just _been_ in Kamordah. It wasn’t really relevant, given that she was pretty sure they weren’t going to any of the local dives. Buddy and Macaroni would probably fit in alright, and The Owlbear might have to be restrained from stalking some ne’er-do-wells, but the rest of them...Yeah, it was going to be interesting.

  
  


  
  


‘Additionally,’ Taryon continued. ‘I have had some _discussions_ with some members, and with Lawrence...I believe that moving forward, in order to improve membership retention…’ There was a pause. ‘A small percentage of fees paid to the Brigade will be funneled down to the existing members.’ He sounded, if not reluctant, then at the very least reticent. ‘I believe five percent of all fees taken by the Brigade is an appropriate number.’ Again, it seemed that this was a number that had been come to after some discussion. He had almost definitely started lower.

  
  


  
  


‘Each, or in total?’ Damian asked, watching Taryon carefully. He did seem a little downtrodden. Damian wondered who it was that had strong-armed him into it. Hazel seemed pretty persuasive, but it also seemed like she was getting money in a back-end deal.

  
  


  
  


There was a heavy sigh. ‘Each.’

  
  


  
  


Well, that was something. Five percent of ten thousand gold was nothing to sneeze at. ‘Retroactive?’

  
  


  
  


Taryon sighed again. ‘Five percent of all _future_ fees taken by the Brigade.’ Oh well. Still better than nothing, assuming future clients were as well-paying as the first. Probably unlikely. It didn’t seem like the Cerberus Assembly knocking on the front door was an everyday occurrence. Even still, it was honest work, something that was apparently in short supply these days.

  
  


  
  


The rest of the day, they spent stocking up on supplies, and getting the cart ready. “Cart” was maybe too pedestrian a word. It looked like another prototype chariot, inlaid with gold leaf, and very fancy looking. Pity it couldn’t seat all of them.

  
  


They set off the following morning, Buddy and Macaroni having arrived just before sundown. It was slow going; Damian was pretty sure she could have gotten there faster on her own.

  
  


  
  


‘Does anyone have access to any teleportat _i_ on magic?’ Hazel asked, after Buddy had stopped them for the fourth time to go relieve himself off the side of the path.

  
  


  
  


They all looked around at each other. The only magic Damian had was the magic of the giants, which wasn’t exactly going to be of much help. Macaroni had banished her to hell that one time, but Damian knew enough about magic to know that it was a different thing.

  
  


  
  


So they walked.

  
  


  
  


It was early evening by the time they made it to Kamordah, stopping just on the outskirts of town. There had been a brief discussion about finding an inn for the night, but Buddy’s size, and the Owlbear’s utter refusal to wash off his musk meant that they were honestly better off camping.

  
  


  
  


It was kinda nice. Hazel made a campfire with magic, and then played some music that she called “mountain rock,” which, if Damian was honest, was a pretty clever pun. Lots of bass. Pretty catchy.

  
  


  
  


The next morning, they made their way through town, anything but subtle. When you had an ogre with a chariot on his back, and a dwarf that jingled when she walked, it was hard to be stealthy. The Owlbear, though, had seemingly vanished into thin air, and it wasn’t until they made it to the top of a large hill that Damian saw him step away from the brick wall he’d been creeping along.

  
  


  
  


Taryon, with Doty by his side, had taken the lead, heading in the direction of what looked like a very large, walled estate.

  
  


  
  


‘You!’ Damian was startled to realize that he was pointing at her. ‘You have some experience in the lives of the rich and the shady, do you not?’

  
  


  
  


Damian hesitated. Her family _was_ pretty well off, that was true. They’d taught her all the sorts of things that rich families were supposed to teach their kids, but probably not in the same way that other families did it. She knew how to balance the books, but only because she’d had to run numbers games. She knew how to appraise art, but only so she could steal it. ‘Sure,’ she said.

  
  


‘I think it might be a bit too...overwhelming to have all of us _mosey_ up to the front door. Could I count on you for back-up?’

  
  


  
  


Damian was a little startled. ‘Are you sure you don’t want someone...’ _That’s not covered in tattoos. Or someone that can speak a little more...eloquently_. Words failed her. ‘A little more put together?’ Not that any of them were really “put together,” save Taryon.

  
  


  
  


‘You’ll be fine,’ Farriwen said, putting a light hand on her shoulder. It was a strange feeling, having people on her side like this. Not that her family hadn’t been on her side. They’d just been rooting for her to fuck shit up, not go and be all charismatic and shit. Damian was surprised at just how much she liked being with a group of people that had each others’ backs, in spite of their differences.

  
  


  
  


Of course, it was early days yet, and for all she knew, it could turn out that Buddy and Macaroni were secretly serial killers or something, but Damian had a good feeling about things.

  
  


  
  


Even still, she muttered a word under her breath, and adjusted the appearance of her armor so that it covered a little more of the tattoos. The face tattoo she couldn’t really do much about, but then, she didn’t want to hide herself completely. Especially if someone needed to be intimidated. That, she was pretty good at.

  
  


  
  


For some reason, apparently dressing like a mobster gave people the impression that you were affiliated with the mob.

  
  


  
  


The rest of the group hung back, while Taryon and Damian went to the gate of the estate. There was a bell there, and when she looked up, Damian could see two guards with crossbows aimed vaguely in their direction. Taryon didn’t seem to have noticed, and rung the bell.

  
  


  
  


A few painstaking minutes passed, with Taryon attempting to make casual conversation, but clearly not having any idea how to do so. Finally, someone came out to take them in to see their newest employer.

  
  


  
  


His name, Taryon had told them, was Thoreau Lionett. He was a portly man, not overly tall, and very clearly trying to look a lot more rich and impressive than he actually was. Definitely the sort of person Damian had met before. The sort of person that earned a few gold and immediately used it to buy things to make people think that he had even more gold.

  
  


  
  


Definitely the kind of person that looked down on anyone who didn’t fit his image of what a well-to-do individual should look like. Even Damian he eyed with something close to distaste. If Taryon had noticed, he probably would have said something.

  
  


  
  


‘For the last three weeks, the beast has been destroying the vines. None of the workers have even been able to catch a glimpse of it.’

  
  


  
  


‘You reckon you can show us?’ Damian asked, and Mr. Lionett immediately looked put out.

  
  


  
  


‘I’m very busy right now,’ he said. _Too busy to deal with the thing you literally hired us for_? ‘But I can have someone take you out there.’

  
  


  
  


‘That would be much appreciated,’ Taryon said, and there wasn’t an ounce of insincerity in his voice.

  
  


  
  


‘Beauregard!’ the man yelled, and Damian’s ears perked up slightly at the name. She watched the staircase intently as a very familiar looking teenager descended it, after a few minutes of awkward silence, and impatient sighs from Mr. Lionett.

  
  


  
  


She was wearing a button down shirt, and dark pants, both of which looked like they’d seen better days, and only seemed to infuriate Mr. Lionett. ‘Is this how you dress for company?’ he seethed.

  
  


  
  


‘I didn’t know we had company,’ Beauregard shot back, angrily. Her eyes panned across the room, and locked onto Damian’s. She froze, eyes wide. She gave a slight shake of the head, and Damian didn’t need to be a genius to figure it out: “Please don’t tell my father that I sneak out at night to commit crimes and get laid.” Or rather get shot down, but that probably didn’t matter to a man like Mr. Lionett. Damian inclined her own head, like: “It’s cool, I know the drill.” Not that her own father had ever cared what she did.

  
  


  
  


Okay, that wasn’t true. But he had been the one encouraging her to commit crimes. In fact, his crimes were way worse than hers, given the whole “Vadoma Crime Family” business. He’d been more disappointed when she stayed in and read books. He’d been pretty disappointed the day she’d left, but that was for other reasons. Like the fact that he was bleeding out on the ground.

  
  


  
  


Book-learning had never been something her family had been particularly big on. They’d laughed at her when she wanted to stay home and read books about people going on adventures. The only books she was supposed to be looking at were the numbers for the incomings and outgoings. They made fun of her for having a head for numbers as well, not in a serious sort of way, but in the friendly ribbing sort of way, like they didn’t really get it, but they were supportive anyway. They had also been pretty supportive of her decision to strike out in the work, seeking a life beyond that of bootlegging, and counterfeiting, and underground three-card ante games. Her brother Joey had given her a hug on her way out of town, and wished her luck (okay, maybe that wasn’t the _whole_ story). If could have seen her now, adventuring with Sir Taryon Darrington.

  
  


  
  


Not that the name would have meant anything to him. If someone famous hadn’t won a pit fight, then Joey didn’t want to know about ‘em. He’d never even heard of Vox Machina. Never mind that they’d saved the world more than once, if Taryon’s books were any indication.

  
  


  
  


Damian had read the _other_ books about Vox Machina. The ones that mentioned Tary not as a footnote, but perhaps as a mere chapter in a much more epic story. She wasn’t going to ruin the guy’s fun by calling him out on it.

  
  


  
  


His heart was in the right place, at least. Wanting to use the money he made to help the people of Wildemount was certainly nicer than anything she’d ever done.

  
  


  
  


‘I’ve hired some people to take care of our vermin problem,’ Mr. Lionett said, casually. ‘I need you to show them the vineyard.’

  
  


  
  


‘Oh, sure, it’s not like I was doing something already,’ Beauregard muttered under her breath. She started slightly, and then looked back to her father, who hadn’t been paying attention to a single word that she said. A sad sort of relief crossed her face.

  
  


  
  


Beauregard followed Taryon and Damian quietly, back down the road to where the rest of the Brigade was waiting. The girl had fallen into step next to Damian, and said, in a low sort of voice, Uh, thanks for not saying anything.’ For some reason, she didn’t want the rest of the Darrington Brigade to hear her. ‘My dad...I mean, you saw him.’ She shrugged. ‘Suffice to say that he doesn’t know a gods-damned thing about what I do at night.’ A pause. ‘Or at all, to be honest.’ There was an understandably bitter tone to her voice, and that sad look from before suddenly made a little more sense.

  
  


  
  


‘So, Beauregard, is it?’ Taryon said. Whether or not he had heard what Beauregard had said to Damian, it was hard to tell.

  
  


  
  


‘Uh yeah. Though, you know, you can call me Beau if you want.’ She shrugged. It almost felt like she was trying the name on.

  
  


  
  


‘Beau, then,’ Taryon agreed, cheerfully. ‘What can you tell us about the _beast_ that is destroying your father’s grapes?’

  
  


  
  


‘Oh,’ Beau said. ‘You know, shit’s fucked. It almost tore off one of the worker’s arms when he tried to fend it off, and all _he_ was worried about was his grapes.’ She gestured her head back towards the house. ‘It doesn’t come every night, but enough that it’s putting a serious dent in profits, which is all he cares about.’

  
  


Beau led them around the back of the Estate, up towards the rainbow-colored cliffs that Damian had noticed on her first visit to the town. At this time of morning, the sun hit them in such a way that the colors were even more striking.

  
  


  
  


Damian pulled out her daggers, and gripped them tightly.

  
  


  
  


She had a feeling she was going to need them.


	3. III

III

  
  


The vineyards were deceptively far away. The rainbow cliffs seemed to stretch out past the boundaries of the town, up into the mountains. Acres and acres worth of vines that switch-backed their way up the cliff face.

  
  


Maintaining them must have been a bitch. Even now, in the light of the morning sun, Damian could see workers moving along the cliff-face like tiny, multi-colored dots.

  
  


It was hot. Hot from the sun the beat down on them, and hot from the ground beneath their feet. Before they’d even made it to the base of the cliffs, Damian had shed her blazer, and rolled up her sleeves. Even the Owlbear, alternating between sneaking very well and very badly, was looking like he wanted to ditch the cape.

  
  


About twenty minutes in, Farriwen made them all stop and drink some water. It was a good idea; Damian was pretty sure both Taryon and Buddy would have trudged along at least a little longer before they realized that they were dehydrated.

  
  


Beau had a waterskin at her waist, but Damian had a shrewd idea that there wasn’t any water actually in it. Once she was done with her own, she tossed it in Beau’s direction, and the teenager took a grateful swig.

  
  


While they were stopped, Taryon took it upon himself to make conversation. ‘So, young Beauregard. What do you do for fun? Do you fight? Are you a fighter?’ Taryon made a couple of over-exaggerated punches with his armor-clad arms, wincing slightly.

  
  


‘I...brawl, I guess,’ Beauregard said with a shrug. ‘Scrappy stuff, you know?’ She rubbed the line of her jaw, where Damian could see a large bruise had formed. She was pretty sure it hadn’t been there the other night. The kid was looking in Damian’s direction, as though for approval. Well, Damian wasn’t going to be the one to disappoint her. ‘Bar fights sometimes.’

  
  


‘Fighting is how my family shows affection,’ Damian said, with half a laugh. She’d said “is,” rather than was, but didn’t think to correct it. That was a whole ‘nother can of worms. ‘I remember one Barren Night we all got arrested, and the cells were so full they had to start using the judge’s chambers as well.’ It was actually a pretty fond memory; one of the better Barren Nights that she’d had, in spite of the chipped tooth and the black eye, and everything else that had followed.

  
  


Beau turned her head slightly. ‘Yeah, mine fight for...other reasons.’ Damian realized, suddenly that the kid was rubbing the bruise even harder. Maybe not a bar fight bruise, then. A strange ball of anger formed in her gut. She’d done worse things to people for less.

  
  


  
  


The sun was high in the sky by the time they made it up to the top of the vineyards. Macaroni passed around jerky and some hardtack that looked like he might have had it for a while. Taryon reluctantly shared the half a dozen pomegranates that he’d had Doty bring along for the trip.

  
  


‘We’re almost there,’ Beau told them. ‘You know, it’s a little quicker when I’m on my own, ‘cos it’s way quicker to climb it.’ Damian eyed Taryon’s heavy armor. The artificer looked as though he was very much regretting his decision to take this job.

  
  


‘It’s a...very rough terrain up this way,’ Taryon said, panting. ‘Very isolated. Where exactly are these beasts coming from?’

  
  


Beau shrugged. ‘Dad thinks they’re coming from over the mountains. Ages and ages ago the town was founded after a cult to the Twilight Phoenix. Every now and then we get weirdos that want to break her free, but usually the Crownsguard take care of them.’ She said it in an offhand sort of voice, as though it was of little importance. The Twilight Phoenix, Damian was pretty sure, was nothing less than the mount of Asmodeus. ‘Sometimes still weird shit up in the mountains, though.’

  
  


Hazel and Taryon were the only other two that seemed to pick up on this. Buddy was picking jerky from between his teeth, and Farriwen and the Owlbear, while concerned, apparently did not know what the Twilight Phoenix was. Macaroni on the other hand was just straight up impossible to read. He could have been planning to release Desirat himself, and Damian wouldn’t have been able to tell.

  
  


When they arrived, the workers were on a break. A rudimentary sun-shelter had been set up between four roughly hewn poles.

  
  


‘These people are here to talk to you about whatever’s been eating the grapes,’ Beau told what looked like the worker in charge, a ruddy-looking grey-haired halfling woman named Cheryl that was easily the oldest person on the cliff-side.

  
  


It wasn’t until that moment that Damian considered the possibility that the workers were in some way responsible. They looked a little disgruntled that their break had been interrupted, but then Damian didn’t blame them.

  
  


‘On the clock,’ Farriwen added, clearly seeing the same disdain. ‘If your boss has a problem with that, he can take it out with us.’

  
  


Beau snorted slightly, and Cheryl chuckled. ‘Yeah, that’s about how that’s going to go,’ she said.

  
  


‘I can stick around and help out this afternoon, if you want,’ Beau offered, and Cheryl gave an appreciative grin. Damian got the impression that it wasn’t the first time Beau had helped them.

  
  


Cheryl showed them all the spots where the beasts had come and damaged the vineyard. In many places, the plants had been massacred. Ripped from the roots, and scattered in the wind. There was something very strange about the whole thing and Damian wasn’t the only one that picked up on it.

  
  


‘I don’t know much about nature, but if there was something that wanted to eat the grapes, wouldn’t it just...I don’t know, eat the grapes?’ Macaroni was perched atop Buddy’s shoulders. ‘This kinda just looks like someone wanted to make a mess.’ Damian wondered exactly how many “messes” he and Buddy had made just for the sake of making mess.

  
  


The halfling had a point. There wasn’t exactly much rhyme or reason to it. Patches of chaos all over the cliff-side, as though something mostly just wanted to cause as much damage as possible.

  
  


‘Does your dad have any enemies?’ Damian asked, and Beau didn’t seem surprised by the question.

  
  


‘I mean sure, it’s a wine town,’ she said. ‘Lots of competing families. The Stassmans, the Erranaths. A bunch of others. You think one of them is responsible for this?’

  
  


‘I mean, how hard would it be to get a bunch of starved beasts to go and tear some shit up?’ Damian asked, and no-one really had too much of an answer. The Owlbear, for all his image and apparent kinship with beasts, didn’t seem to know a whole lot about them.

  
  


Since the creatures only seemed to come at night, the group made their way back down to the town proper. Taryon had planned to go and talk to Mr. Lionett again, to clarify some matters. This time, Farriwen went with him. Damian had had more than enough of rich assholes for the day.

  
  


The rest of them went to the winery itself, to see if there was any information that they could get from the other workers. Not a lot, given that the work day ended at sunset. The only reason even one of the workers had been injured was because they’d gone back to pick up some gear. Even still, Damian was interested in their perception of their employer. As suspected, they didn’t have great things to say, but at the same time, the beast attacks were causing enough issues with the grape supply that they were all losing income. This wasn’t an inside job. Unless there was some big insurance policy out on the winery. Even that seemed unlikely; from what Damian could see, it didn’t look like a failing business.

  
  


Taryon and Farriwen returned after lunch, and based on the look on Taryon’s face, the conversation hadn’t gone as he had planned. Not that it had gone badly. Just not as well as he’d wanted it to.

  
  


‘We explained to our esteemed friend Mr. Lionett that this could take a number of nights staking out the vineyards, and negotiated accordingly.’ There was a slight pause. ‘Despite my best efforts at being charming and persuasive, I sadly could not talk him above two thousand gold.’

  
  


Two thousand wasn’t bad, and still more than any of the halfling workers out on those cliffs would earn in a lifetime. Even one hundred gold – five percent – was enough to pad pockets for a little while.

  
  


‘There is also,’ Taryon continued. ‘An opportunity for further employment, should our first job go well.’ He brightened a little after saying this. The lure of a potential ongoing client was clearly making him giddy. Even if it was an asshole rich guy who didn’t care about his daughter.

  
  


They dispersed a little after that, not needing to go back up until the sun started to set. It gave them a few hours to prepare, and grab any supplies that they might need, including something a little heartier than pomegranate, jerky and hardtack.

  
  


Damian took the opportunity to pull Taryon aside. ‘Hey, Taryon.’ She kept her voice low; she didn’t want any of the rest of the group to hear. From what she could see, they were busy anyway. The Owlbear was trying to find a way to hide against the dirt, and Hazel was doing something with her wax cylinder. The others seemed to have wandered off. ‘Your Estate...you said that you sometimes use it to take care of “wayward souls,” and shit like that?’

  
  


‘Oh yes!’ Taryon said, clearly not quite realizing that she was trying to be discreet. ‘The mansion has housed many wayward souls, from travelers too destitute to afford an in, to down on their luck individuals looking for work.’

  
  


‘What about, ah...runaway teens?’

  
  


He looked at her curiously. ‘Forgive me,’ he said, voice filled with curiosity. ‘I thought myself familiar with half-elven aging. Are you, in fact, still a teenager?’

  
  


‘Not me!’ she seethed, perhaps a little too loudly. She jerked her head back to where Farriwen and Beau were talking. ‘I...I mean, you saw the way her dad spoke to her, right?’

  
  


Taryon gave a laugh that seemed to hold not much humor. ‘I had a strained relationship with my own father,’ he said. ‘It’s made me the man I am today.’ Damian could tell that he didn’t really believe those words at all. She lowered her voice even further.

  
  


‘I, uh...I mean, it’s not really my place to talk about it, y’know, but I think he might, uh...I think he mighta hit her.’

  
  


Taryon seemed to straighten, and his false smile fell away immediately. ‘Do you really think so?’ he said, not in a way that made her think he was disbelieving, just in a “give me more information” sort of way.

  
  


‘Yeah, I mean, she’s got that bruise on her face, and...’ Damian hesitated. She wasn’t quite sure how much she was ready to admit about why she’d come to Kamordah the first time. She was supposed to be going straight after all. ‘I guess I kind of recognize the look of someone that’s got caught up in a family that’s a little too violent is all.’ Not that the violence in her own family had ever really been malicious. But it didn’t need to be malicious to be hurtful. This kind of violence she was pretty sure _was_ malicious.

  
  


‘Well, first we need to get this job done,’ Taryon said. ‘Then, we can have further discussions.’ Damian wasn’t sure if she liked her chances. Taryon was clearly very easily swayed by money, but maybe there was a heart of gold somewhere underneath that golden hair and golden armor.

  
  


Night came surprisingly quickly after that.

  
  


The sky was bright with moonlight, and Damian had just enough Darkvision to be able to keep an eye on things at the base of the cliff.

  
  


The Darrington Brigade were scattered across the Rainbow Vineyard, with Buddy and Macaroni guarding up near the top, and everyone else in varying places along the switchback path. Even from here, Damian could sometimes hear the jingle of the bells on Hazel’s stirrups.

  
  


The sound of footsteps jerked Damian to attention. They weren’t the footsteps of someone sneaking. They were the footsteps of someone sauntering, very clearly wanting to be heard.

  
  


‘It’s just me,’ came a familiar voice, and a half second after that, the image of a teenage girl clarified itself in Damian’s vision. ‘Don’t chuck a knife or anything.’

  
  


Damian lowered her hand, which had been at her left shoulder holster. ‘Shouldn’t you be in bed?’

  
  


‘It’s like eleven o’clock,’ Beau said with a snort. ‘I’ve just barely snuck out. You wanna drink?’ Beauregard passed over a skin that almost definitely wasn’t filled with water. Damian hesitated. She wasn’t much of a drinker.

  
  


Okay, that wasn’t true. She was far too much of a drinker, or at least, she had been, right up until the time (okay, times plural) she’d drunk way too much and done some things she really shouldn’t have done. That was one thing, at least, that she would Never Forget. Since then, the most she’d ever really had was half a glass of mead at holiday times; enough to give a mild buzz, but not so much she was whacking people across the face with a chair. Even that was probably more than was wise.

  
  


There was something about the look on the kid’s face, though, that Damian didn’t want to disappoint her. She took a small sip; it was wine. Presumably, the Lionett family wine. Pretty good, too, even if Damian had generally been more one for hard liquor. ‘You make this?’ she asked, handing the skin back.

  
  


  
  


‘Well...not just me,’ Beauregard said. ‘But you know...I do do a lot of stuff around the winery. Help pick grapes, keeping the books...stuff like that.’

  
  


Damian frowned. ‘How old are you? Really, I mean. Not what you tell people you want to hook up with at the bar.’

  
  


Beauregard hesitated before answering. ‘Sixteen,’ she said, finally. At sixteen, Damian had been...well, probably in a similar amount of trouble (and similar types of trouble, too). The difference was, her family had seen the trouble as a good thing, and they definitely hadn’t forced her to do any work that they could hire someone else to do. This house was fucking huge; they could have easily afforded to hire a worker to do something, rather than making their teenage daughter do it.

  
  


‘Shouldn’t you...I dunno, be studying, or something? Can’t be much fun dragging a bunch of boring old assholes around.’ Beauregard gave a slight grin.

  
  


‘It’s the only way I’m allowed out of the house.’ She was still grinning as she said it, but the words sent a wave of anger back down Damian’s spine again. A kid that wasn’t allowed out of the house wasn’t really having that much of a childhood, in her opinion. ‘Doesn’t stop me, though. I keep asking dad if he’ll let me take a couple of barrels of wine, try and sell them to the taverns in Zadash. Spread the business, you know? He keeps saying how dangerous it is.’ Beau gave a snort, and Damian could see where she was coming from. On a scale of one to ten, Zadash was about a two in danger level. At least compared to places like Shady Creek Run, or Port Damali.

  
  


‘What happened here?’ Damian asked, indicated her chin. Beau flinched slightly. It had been a bit of a gamble, but Damian had never really been one to take the subtle route. ‘Your dad do that?’

  
  


Beau shook her head, but didn’t seem entirely surprised by the question. ‘Pissed off the wrong person at the bar. Happens all the time.’ She paused, and seemed very hesitant all of a sudden. ‘I mean, my dad’s kind of a dick, but…not like that. He just…he yells a lot, and twists things around to make them seem like my fault, and locks me in my room sometimes. Stuff like that. Nothing really that bad.’

  
  


Damian was speechless. “Not that bad.” Not that bad was like when you ordered your steak rare, and you got it medium. ‘What about your Mom?’

  
  


Beau shrugged. ‘She doesn’t yell, but like…she doesn’t do much of anything else, either. Kind of just shrinks away if it gets too bad.’ There was a resignation in her voice that Damian didn’t particularly like. As if it was normal for parents to be so uncaring towards their children. Her parents had been a lot of things, but they had never been uncaring.

  
  


Damian’s own mother….well, of all the things she regretted, of all the things she wanted to forget, but couldn’t, the look on her mother’s face was one of them. Betrayal, and sadness. Everyone else in the family would probably kill Damian if they ever saw her, but she was pretty sure that her mother would hesitate. The others would feel bad about it, but they’d probably still do it.

  
  


It was a mutual sort of feeling. You betrayed your family, you died. That was the rule. The rule she was never going to forget, because she kept waiting for it to sneak up behind her and whack her over the head.

  
  


No sooner than she was done thinking that, there was a bright flash of light and a bang from halfway up the cliff-side.

  
  


‘Sorry kid, that’s my cue.’ Damian drew her knives. ‘Stay here,’ she said, and began charging up the path, certain that she could hear the sound of footsteps rushing on after her.


	4. IV

IV

Beau was following her.

It was about what Damian had expected, but she would be remiss if she didn’t at least get the kid to stay behind. In spite of the fact that she could still hear banging and shouting, Damian stopped, and turned.

Beau was barely a step behind her; the kid was  _fast_ . Clearly very much used to scrambling up these cliffs, whether to work or to do something a little more nefarious, Damian wasn’t sure.

‘It’s gonna be dangerous,’ she said, and felt like an idiot for saying it. Of course it was going to be dangerous.

Beau gave a familiar scowl; the same scowl she’d given her father more than once during Damian’s first visit to the Lionett Estate. Shit. Was this what being a responsible adult meant? Damian wasn’t sure how she felt about that. There was a fine line between being protective, and being condescending. 

‘I’m just sayin’, be careful, alright. Stay back if it gets too much.’ Damian hesitated. Then, she took one of her daggers from its sheath. ‘Here. Just in case. That one doesn’t do anything cool.’ Maybe that was a little _too_ apologetic. Like “here, we’re probably going into serious danger, but you don’t get the cool dagger that lights on fire.”

Beau took it, almost awed. Then, there was another loud bang that sounded suspiciously like Hazel’s work, and Damian took off.  Not because she thought the others couldn’t handle it, but because if Hazel had gotten to the point of causing explosions, then on the cliffs below was not a great place to be.

They scampered up the cliff face, and within twenty seconds were in the heart of the action. Damian wasn’t sure exactly _what_ she had been expecting, but it probably wasn’t this.

Big fucking rats. Way bigger than any kind of rat that Damian had seen before, but then, not three weeks ago, they’d battled an enormous, tentacled duck, so anything was possible.

  
  


Kamordah wasn’t too far from Deastock; it wouldn’t have been impossible for the meteorite that had created a mutant duck to also create some mutant rats. Unlikely, but not impossible. Probably not, though. If there was one thing that Damian knew about rats, it was that they were pretty good at squealing. Okay, so maybe that was a different kind of rat.

  
  


There were about a dozen of these ones, each of them the size of a dog. Perched on the cliffside, there wasn’t really enough room for Damian to invoke her Giant Might. One dagger down, she darted in towards a rat that was harrying on Farriwen, arcing a fiery slice across what could have been its neck. Funny thing about mutant rats, their anatomy was all over the place.

‘Thanks,’ Farriwen breathed, before stunning the rat into a stupor with a single punch. It was kinda hot, but Damian didn’t stop to tell the monk that. She moved onto the next rat, vaguely aware of Beau already stabbing into it with gusto. The technique was pretty sloppy given that the kid was more used to punching, but at the very least there was enthusiasm. She gave a slight yelp as the rat retaliated with a bite, and before it could do anything worse, Damian had skewered it.

It all seemed a little too easy.

Sure, they were big rats, and sure, they’d already done a lot of damage to the vineyard, but town guards could handle rats. You called in a famed adventuring party if you had a lot of money, or you were worried about something else.

In this situation, it probably could have been both.  In any case, within another five minutes, Damian was wiping her blade on its cleaning cloth.

‘Gosh, this is a bit of a mess,’ Taryon said. His shining golden armor was covered in rat blood, some of which seemed to be burning through a little. That explained the burning sensation. Rats with acid blood was hardly normal.

‘I don’t think it’s over,’ the Owlbear said. He was kneeling to the ground, examining one of the rat corpses. ‘These rats had to come from somewhere.’

He wasn’t wrong, Damian realized. There might still be more of them somewhere, waiting for the Darrington Brigade to leave. Not that rats had any sense of intelligence in that way. At the very least there might have been a nest. Damian looked back to Beau, who was still breathing a little heavily.

Macaroni had healed her bite wound, but she kept staring back at it, a faded pink crescent-shaped scar in the meaty flesh of her forearm,  which was still covered in blood . ‘You alright?’ Damian asked. She was maybe sort of having second thoughts about inviting a teenager to come and kill mutant rats with them.

‘Yeah.’ Beau gave a slight grin. ‘It’s my first scar from something cool.’

Damian vividly remembered her first scar from something cool. She’d been a little older than Beau was now, still with a bit of a chip on her shoulder. She and her sister Maria had been dealing with a gang from Tal’Dorei encroaching on the Vadoma territory. They’d been smuggling crates of what Damian had thought were swords, but it wasn’t until the bright-hot ball of lead pierced through her shoulder that she realized this was some new, devastating sort of weapon.

The scar was about the size of a gold piece, and so uniform that on first glance it didn’t really look like a scar at all. For the longest time, Damian had proudly told the story of how she’d cut through half-a-dozen rival gangsters while blood poured from the wound. They didn’t have any clerics or healing potions, so Maria had had to cauterize the wound with the red-hot blade of a sword they’d put in the fire.

That scar had faded, but the one left by the bullet hadn’t. The Vadomas had taken the crate of firearms (as the Tal’Dorei gang had called them), and called in a tinkerer to reverse-engineer the design. Soon the Vadomas had been shipping firearms all across Wildemount.

The story felt a little more shameful than heroic now. Damian wondered just how many people had died at the hands of a firearm, at how much death and devastation her family had wrought. No matter how much good she did – she tried to do – there was still so much to make up for.

A couple of rats wasn’t going to cut it.

Helping a teenager live a different life than the one she did? That was an alright start. Of course Beau’s situation was very, very different to what Damian’s had been, but Damian hadn’t been out of the game long enough to recognize when someone was on the verge of crossing a line that they couldn’t uncross. Beau wasn’t quite there yet, but hanging out at bars and getting into fights, and being a contact for local enforcers was the first step towards some stuff that was much, much worse.

‘Did this feel a little strange to anyone else?’ Hazel asked. She was breathing heavily, leaning against the rock wall. Damian couldn’t imagine having to lug that huge kit around everywhere and _not_ get tired. She tended to travel pretty light. Maybe that was because she’d left everything else behind. ‘My understand _i_ ng was that we were conscripted to kill _one_ beast, not…’ She trailed off and gestured to the pile of carnage.

‘There are cultists in these mountains,’ Beau said, in an off-hand sort of voice. ‘Weird shit happens sometimes.’

‘I’m sorry, did you say _cultists_?’ Taryon was remarkably quick on the uptake.

‘Yeah, I mean I did tell you that Twilight Phoenix stuff, right?’ Beau frowned slightly. Damian knew that look. The look of a teenager that thought they weren’t being taken seriously.

‘Of course,’ Taryon said, quickly. ‘You said that some of them founded the town?’

‘Yeah.’ Beau relaxed a little. ‘I guess releasing rats into a vineyard isn’t really their style. Maybe one of the other wine families.’ Beau had mentioned the other wine families previously. It seemed like a big risk, in Damian’s eyes. All the vineyards up here on the cliffs, there was too much of a risk of having your own grapes destroyed. Don’t burn down someone’s house when you live next door, or something like that.

But, not everyone was a criminal mastermind. And it was easier to deflect blame if you were getting hurt too.

‘Where did they come from?’ Damian asked. The Owlbear didn’t answer with words, but he was still down on his hands and knees, sniffing the ground for tracks.

‘This way,’ he said, his voice muffled through the grapevine that his face was currently pressed into.

This felt like the duck all over again. Following in the footprints of something they weren’t entirely sure about, leading to something that had the potential to kill them all. And there wasn’t even a ten thousand gold payout at the end. The main difference was, this time they had a plucky teen at their heels.

‘You sure you want to do this?’ Damian asked, and Beau snorted once more.

‘He doesn’t care what I do unless it makes him look bad.’ It wasn’t the question that Damian had asked, and yet it was the answer she had expected. She was pretty sure it wasn’t entirely true, either. Thoreau _did_ seem to care, but not in a way that was indicative of actual paternal love. More likely he cared that he was being disobeyed, than anything else.

‘Stay close,’ was all Damian could think to say. At the very least, if Beau was close, Damian could keep an eye on her. She was half-expecting another scowl, but Beau nodded, and, clutching the dagger, ducked in so that she was creeping along next to Damian. There were worse places to be. Downwind of Buddy for one.

It was a rough climb. Clearly there was a reason that this part of the cliffs didn’t have grapes growing on it; even just getting up here was a task and a half. Damian was tall enough that she didn’t have too many issues, and Farriwen was so light on her feet that it looked like she was flying, and the Owlbear moved with a stealthy speed that belied his name, but the rest of them struggled a bit.

Beau, who had clearly been coming up these cliffs since she could walk, barely even needed a lift up. She did take a breather next to Damian though, and they watched as Hazel jingled her way up over a particularly nasty bit. Too late, Damian wondered whether they should have gotten the bard to at least take the bells off.

Damian took a long swig from her waterskin, before tossing it to Beau, who hesitated slightly before taking a drink. Damian remembered a time where she’d gone days without drinking water, or the only water being in the ice of a liquor glass. Not great memories – not _clear_ memories – but they were the memories that she had, and she had to live with them, the same way she had to live with everything else that she’d done.

They managed to get a decent break in, waiting for everyone else to get up there. Once everyone was, the Owlbear scouted ahead again, looking for more tracks.

‘These mountains are littered with caves,’ Beau told them. ‘I think smugglers used to use them, to get through to the Menagerie Coast without paying the tariffs. But most of the passages are blocked up now.’

‘You know a lot about the history of the area,’ Farriwen commented, and Beau shrugged.

‘I like reading,’ she said, and looked like she was getting ready to be defensive about it, but when no-one called her out, her shoulders seemed to relax. ‘The library isn’t very big, and most of the books are about the “history of Kamordah.”’

‘Well it’s been very useful so far,’ Taryon said in a cheerful voice that was utterly sincere. ‘You make a wonderful guide.’ Beau seemed very pleased by the compliment, once she realized that it was one.

The Owlbear gestured to show that he’d found the tracks once more. Damian put away her waterskin.

‘Alright,’ Taryon said. ‘Let’s keep moving.’


End file.
